


Entanglements

by fishpoets



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Awkward Sexual Situations, Fluff, Humor, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishpoets/pseuds/fishpoets
Summary: Hanzo and Jesse find themselves in a knotty situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】纠「结」/Entanglements by fishpoets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339211) by [Isosceles_TAngle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isosceles_TAngle/pseuds/Isosceles_TAngle)



> never thought i'd write a/b/o, but there's a first time for everything i guess.
> 
> anyway enjoy!

 

Sweat beads on the back of Hanzo's neck. It pools, spills, runs down the sinuous curve of his spine.

 

Jesse leans down over his back to lap at it. Salt bursts on his tongue. He follows the line up, up, up until his lips are scraping on the bristles of Hanzo's undercut.

 

The new angle makes Hanzo groan. Jesse urges him on, braces himself with a hand on the pillow by Hanzo's head. He slips the hand on Hanzo's hip up to his chest, grabs a palmful of thick pectoral, picks up the pace.

 

Hanzo's breathing has turned vocal, spilling wet noises into the pillow with each steady surge of Jesse's hips. He's close. Jesse nips at the shell of his ear, tugs gently at the ring hanging from it with his teeth. Hanzo's scent is strong, flushed out with his sweat. Jesse noses under his jaw where it's more intense, down the strong, sweet-smelling cords of his neck. Runs his lips over the smooth skin.

 

The archer has a little mark where the muscle of his shoulder meets his neck. At first Jesse thought it part of his tattoo, but since he's been allowed close he's discovered it's actually a little mole, a tiny human blemish on otherwise perfect skin. Jesse is more attracted to it than he really ought to be. He kisses it, open-mouthed, suckles the sweat off the skin. The mark is on Hanzo's left side, just above where the tail of his dragon tattoo curls around his heart.

 

Jesse drags his tongue flat against the hot muscle. Where a mating mark would be. It would take nothing to bite down in a moment of distraction. All Jesse would have to do is sink his teeth in, and they would be--

 

No. It's way too early to be chasing that rabbit. Mateship isn't a choice to be made lightly, and this is only their first heat together. Best not get too carried away. But the idea thrills him all the same; once thought, it gets stuck and refuses to leave, sending sparks through his blood. It pushes him over the edge, tumbles him into white bliss. Reluctantly he drags his teeth away from Hanzo's shoulder and rears up, pushing in deep as he comes hard in thick, shuddering spurts. His knot swells, locking them together.

 

He swims back to awareness as Hanzo shivers beneath him, pulsing weakly around the knot inside him as he comes again, moaning into the pillow. Jesse smiles and strokes the quaking muscles of Hanzo's back, soothing him as he comes down from the high, twitching and oversensitive. Third time in one round. Not bad, not bad at all, even for a heat. And they've only just begun.

 

Jesse sits back on his heels, eases Hanzo into his lap. Hanzo slumps against his chest, panting. His eyes are closed, his lashes wet, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. Jesse brushes his sweat-soaked hair out of his face and reaches for the damp cloths on the bedside table. He knows from experience how much Hanzo appreciates the post-sex stickiness of drying fluids – which is not at all.

 

This is far from their first time enjoying each other. They've been dallying a while now, been something like friends a little longer. Being invited to take care of Hanzo's heat is a new kind of intimacy. Jesse's more than happy to pick up the mantle.

 

Hanzo recovers as Jesse's cleaning them both up.

 

Jesse kisses his cheek. “Back with me, sweetheart?”

 

Hanzo hums dreamily. Jesse finishes wiping the last smears of slick and cum from Hanzo's thigh and swaps the washcloths for one of the bottles of water on the table. He cracks the cap and passes it over, holds Hanzo's shaking hands steady as he takes a long, slow drink. When he's done Jesse drains it himself and drops the empty bottle on the floor.

 

"You're cleaning that up later," Hanzo mutters. His voice is rougher than usual, wrecked.

 

Jesse nuzzles into his hair. "Sure thing, darlin'."

 

He wraps his arm around Hanzo's middle and uses his toes to push the protective sheet down to the end of the bed. Maneuvering together is tricky – they both hiss and twitch when the knot tugs – but they've worked at each other's side for a while now, gotten good at predicting how the other will move. It doesn't take long to settle together under the covers.

 

And then Jesse is in Hanzo Shimada's bed, naked, spooned up behind him. Knotted with him. During his heat.

 

It's a good thing any anxiety he was feeling has been drowned by a heavy dose of satisfaction, because there's no backing out of this now. Literally. They're stuck together.

 

The thick, powerful chest under Jesse's arm expands and contracts as Hanzo sighs, his breathing slowing and deepening. Jesse smiles and lets himself tuck his nose back into Hanzo's neck. He smells even sweeter after three orgasms, musky and delicious.

 

Jesse's never been one to take any notice of the old stereotypes about alphas and omegas: that alphas are aggressive and dominating above all else; that omegas are submissive and weak and will go helpless at the first hint of a knot. Even if he were, his time in Overwatch would have put those beliefs firmly six feet under. Meeting Hanzo would have exhumed them, killed them again and dropkicked them back into the grave for good measure. Fact is there's no loss of awareness or humanity during a rut or a heat. Pheromones are pesky things, and sure they can get a fella all fired up, but no one gets so overruled by their urges that they lose their reason, despite what the old morality tales may say.

 

Still, Jesse can't deny that something deep and primal stirred in him when Hanzo invited him into his room this morning; his voice low, eyes dark and soft, his scent spiked with the first sweet hints of heat. It still hasn't settled, rumbling possessively deep in his chest.

 

Though that may be Hanzo, growling quietly low in his throat, vibrating under Jesse's mouth.

 

“Mind your teeth.”

 

Jesse laps apologetically at the pink dents he's left on Hanzo's skin. “How're you feelin'?”

 

Hanzo shifts his hips, gasps a soft laugh when the motion makes Jesse buck reflexively into him. “I'm good,” he says, his voice husky and low. He pats Jesse's metal forearm. “You did your job well.”

 

It's a little embarrassing, how even the simplest praise from Hanzo makes that purring primal thing inside of Jesse glow with pride. It's not a new feeling. Honestly, everything about this man makes him feel just a tad foolish. He'd thought himself past the point of getting besotted, too old for giddiness and a racing heart at receiving a smile or a laugh. He thought wrong.

 

He buries his nose in Hanzo's damp hair. Maybe it's that he knows Hanzo doesn't give compliments lightly. Not the type of man to say things he doesn't mean. What he _is_ is strong and smart and self-possessed, with a dry, surprisingly dorky sense of humor. He genuinely likes old movies – even Westerns. That's a major plus in Jesse's book. And he fits so nice in his arms.

 

Jesse's always liked the ones who could have him face-down in the dirt in two seconds flat.

 

After a couple minutes lying close together Hanzo starts shifting gingerly, tensing his thighs.

 

“Doin' alright there, honey?”

 

Hanzo snakes his arm back and gropes at Jesse's hip, follows the crest of it down between their bodies. He scrapes the tips of his fingers through the thick thatch of Jesse's pubic hair, nudges his balls and the root of his cock, presses them where he's stretched wide where they're joined. He feels up the firm shape of Jesse's knot inside him.

 

“How long does this usually take.”

 

Something about his tone gives Jesse pause. “..You askin' in general, or for me specifically?”

 

He hears Hanzo lick his lips. “Both, I suppose,” he says casually.

 

“Depends on the person, but most often somewhere between... five and twenty minutes? For yours truly, a quarter-hour usually does it.” He pets Hanzo's stomach. “..This your first time bein' knotted, sweetheart?”

 

Hanzo stiffens. “The opportunity never presented itself before,” he sniffs.

 

“Yeah, I get that. Nothin' wrong about that at all. Been a good long while for me, to be truthful.” Jesse strokes from his stomach to his hip, kisses the tense corner of his jaw, asks tentatively, “You go through your heats alone, then?”

 

“Do you always ask personal questions when you're tied with someone?”

 

“When I like 'em, sure.” He grins as Hanzo's ear turns pink. “Besides, we gotta spend the time somehow, right? And maybe I wanna know more about you.”

 

Hanzo relaxes further into his arms. “I didn't go through heats alone because I didn't have heats,” he says. “I was on suppressants. Before I came here, I had not had a heat in... years. I cannot precisely recall.”

 

“Guess that makes sense. I've had to block a couple of ruts myself when I was on the run. Don't that mess with your systems, though, taking blockers long-term?”

 

Hanzo shakes his head. “A common misconception. It isn't damaging. There are side-effects to the medication, however, which I'd prefer not to deal with if it's not necessary. Headaches. Muscle pain, occasionally. ..Mood swings. In some ways dealing with the heat is more pleasant.” He turns his head, eyes Jesse over his shoulder. “Especially if you have someone to share it with.”

 

Jesse nudges closer to kiss the pink, plush curve of his mouth. Call him a sap, but this is his favorite part of sex: the quiet closeness of being joined, sated and relaxed. The calm between the storm of heat-rush. It's been years since he had this, even longer since he had it with someone he liked so dang much.

 

Trouble with _liking_ your bedfellow is that it feels worse when things don't go to plan.

 

As the minutes tick by, Hanzo starts getting impatient, fidgeting and muttering under his breath. It's making Jesse start to feel self-conscious. The blood's still pulsing and heavy low in his gut, the constant pressure turning uncomfortable. He wasn't lying: fifteen minutes was his average, and he was a lot younger, more _vigorous_ , the last time he knotted with someone. But those fifteen minutes pass, then twenty, and still the knot stays swollen, no sign of it going down.

 

He grunts when Hanzo squeezes around him. “Is it supposed to take this long?” he huffs. “Surely more time has passed than you said.”

 

“Yeah, I don't know what's goin' on. This ain't happened before.”

 

Hanzo sighs; he's probably disappointed. The sound makes Jesse feel heavy and leaden. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says ruefully. “It – it's been a while. Look, I'll phone Doc, see if she can help us out.” He twists back, making Hanzo wince, and reaches awkwardly for his communicator on the nightstand. Hanzo hunches over as Jesse connects a private call to Angela.

 

She picks up straight away.

 

“Hey, Doc.”

 

“McCree, is something wrong? Do you need assistance?”

 

Bless her; she sounds worried, obviously not expecting him to call in the middle of the day. He chuckles. “No, no, don't worry yourself, I'm fine. Just ah... well, it's a little embarrassing, to tell you the truth.”

 

She laughs, relieved. “Oh, you know there's nothing I haven't seen before. No need to be ashamed. What's the problem?”

 

“I uh. I got myself a bit knot-locked.”

 

“I see.” She slips into her business voice, all professional. “How long has it sustained?”

 

“Gone thirty minutes now.”

 

“All right. I can come by and give you a thinner shot. I assume you're in your room?”

 

“Uh.” Jesse looks at his companion, at the back of his sleek dark head, at the way he's hidden his face in the pillow, fiercely ignoring the conversation. “I'm in Hanzo's room, actually, Angela.”

 

There's a pause on the line. “I see. Should I assume Mister Shimada is there with you?”

 

God, he wants to laugh, but if he does Hanzo might actually kill him. “You could say that, yeah. Real close, if you catch my drift.”

 

“Hard not to,” she says, wry. “All right, Jesse. I'll be along shortly.”

 

The door is locked, but Angela's medical override lets her in; lucky, because neither of them are exactly able to get up to get the door for her. Hanzo shrinks further down into the blankets and stills. Angela shuts the door behind her, snapping a scent-blocking mask over her nose and mouth.

 

“Okay, Jesse. Your knot hasn't gone down, correct?”

 

Jesse twists to see her over his shoulder. He can feel himself starting to blush. “That's right.”

 

Angela opens up her kit, gets out a wipe and a packaged needle. “Has this happened before?”

 

“Nope, never. But it's been a while since I last did this, so...”

 

“These things happen sometimes. Knot dysfunctions are more common than you'd think, especially as alphas enter middle age.” She fixes him with one of her patent _looks_ , kind but stern. “But if it becomes a persistent problem it could be a sign of something more serious, so you'll let me know if it does, yes?”

 

“Will do.” Jesse tries valiantly to ignore the bizarre embarrassment of holding a pleasant conversation with one of his oldest friends while he's balls-deep and knotted with a man he's been mooning over for months, as if it were perfectly normal. Even if said friend is his doctor. “Do you need me to move, or...?”

 

“No, no, your arm will be fine.”

 

Dutifully he unwraps his arm from Hanzo's waist and extricates it from the covers. Angela wipes down a spot on his bicep with the antibacterial wipe and presses the needle into the muscle.

 

“What I'm giving you is a simple shot to interrupt the hormone response,” she tells him. “It should reduce the knot within the next few minutes.” She pulls out the needle and sticks a band-aid over the mark. “If there's no change after ten give me another call, okay?”

 

“You got it. Thanks, Doc.”

 

Angela nods approvingly. Her eyes flick across to the bed's other occupant. “Do you have everything you need for your heat, Hanzo?”

 

Pressed against his chest, Jesse can feel Hanzo jolt minutely, not expecting to be spoken to. “Yes, thank you,” he says stiffly.

 

His obvious discomfort makes Jesse's protective instinct rear its head. “If we think of anything I can sort it out,” he says, eager for Angela to leave.

 

Angela gathers her things and gives a cursory glance around the room, like she's got to make sure everything's up to her standards, before she leaves. The auto-lock on the door beeps as it re-engages. Jesse exhales and rests his flushed forehead on Hanzo's nape.

 

“I'm real sorry about this, sweetheart.”

 

“It's fine.” His tone is clipped.

 

They lie in silence. The shot works: gradually the thrumming tension in Jesse's belly relaxes and unwinds. As soon as the knot recedes enough Hanzo rolls away with a hiss. He clambers over Jesse's legs, face contorted in a wince, and staggers to the bathroom, rubbing at his lower back. The click of the lock is swiftly followed by the sound of the faucet running.

 

Jesse eases himself up slowly and swings his legs out of bed. He takes one of the washcloths and wipes at his flaccid dick, feeling hollow in his stomach. The discarded water bottle bumps into his toes, skitters around on the floor. He bends over to pick it up.

 

The faucet stops running. Hanzo comes back out of the bathroom, tying his bathrobe closed.

 

Hanzo can be real expressive when he wants to be; when he's comfortable or sleepy, or been at the drink. It's rare, though, for him to let his guard down completely. Jesse's probably been let past his walls more than any of the others – save Genji, of course – but even so, when Hanzo's impassive he finds him so damn hard to read. May as well be carved out of stone.

 

Jesse clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, grimacing. “Guess that wasn't the best experience.”

 

Hanzo makes an indecipherable noise. “The end could have been better, yes.”

 

Jesse burns, humiliated. “Right.” He can feel Hanzo studying him, but he doesn't want to meet his assessing gaze, doesn't want to know if his eyes have turned sharp and cold, have lost the beautiful, welcoming warmth they showed him earlier. Instead he looks down at his feet, scrunches his hairy toes against the cheap carpet tiles.

 

Hanzo's bare feet pad into his field of vision. He stands there quietly a moment before he says, “You think this happened because you are... out of practice.”

 

Jesse scratches his chest. “Reckon so, yeah.”

 

“Hm.” Hanzo plucks the bottle from Jesse's loose grip and bops him on the nose. “It was not simply over-excitement?” His tone is warm and gently amused. _Teasing._ Jesse blinks and looks up, surprised.

 

“You did well, but you can do better, I'm sure,” Hanzo continues. He tosses the bottle into the corner of the room and preens, smoothing back the loose strands of his hair, tilting his head. Stretching out his neck, the strong, muscular cords. “I'd like to see your best.”

 

Jesse swallows, licks his lips. He can feel his heartrate start to pick up again.

 

“You wanna do this again?”

 

Hanzo's eyes are simmering, soft and dark. He drags his hands through his hair and scrapes it up into a high ponytail, then reaches out and cups them around Jesse's wide jaw. A calloused thumb brushes over Jesse's mouth; he kisses it, sucks the tip between his lips, scrapes the pad lightly with his teeth.

 

“It's foolish to expect perfection the first time. All things require practice.” Hanzo scratches his nails through Jesse's beard, thumbs his cheek, fondles his ear. “Besides, I should have another day or two of heat at the least. I do not wish to spend it alone.”

 

“Maybe we could make this a regular thing,” Jesse gasps, as Hanzo nudges him further up on to the bed and insinuates himself in his lap.

 

Hanzo's hand trails down, lingering on the curve where neck and shoulder meet. Left side, above Jesse's heart. Where a mating mark would be.

 

“I would like that,” he says, and leans in for round two.

 

 


End file.
